Within Reach
by Rosage
Summary: Feeling separated from the others in her camp, Lilina struggles to be of use to them.


Lilina shuffled through the camp, scanning for any sign of someone who might need her help. It had been a long day of marching, and her sore feet begged for rest, but she didn't want to give it to them just yet, not while sections of the army still bustled with movement. She'd already helped set up camp, but in her weariness, her grip on the stakes and hammers had slipped enough that she'd become a hazard. She'd tried training with the knights, but they were all wary of hurting her to the point where she felt like a liability in their own training, and they hadn't seemed to like her chatting, even though she'd only wanted to brighten their day.

Lilina bit her lip. Surely, someone could use her help, or at least her conversation. Many of the soldiers looked up as she passed, but they only inclined their heads and murmured _my lady _before returning to their duties. Nobody asked if she could help them stretch, or invited her to break bread with them and share in their laughter.

Loneliness tugged Lilina's chin down to her chest until a flash of red at the corner of her vision pulled it back up. Brightening, Lilina stepped toward Roy, but as she drew near, she saw generals and tacticians surrounding him. With his back turned, he didn't notice her. She stopped and rocked on the balls of her feet. She didn't want to interrupt him (or hear him say _is there something I can do for you? _as if she was any other member of his army and not his childhood friend), so when a couple of the people in front of him took notice of her, she turned and walked away.

Trying not to feel dejected, she made a path for the healer's tent. There hadn't been a battle that day, but she knew the grave wounds she'd witnessed soldiers taking (sometimes in her place, sometimes because she'd spotted Roy further down the field and let her guard down while rushing to him) wouldn't have healed over night.

Lifted by that resolve, she didn't notice her company until she heard a voice from beside her. "My lady, do you need assistance?"

Lilina turned to face Bors. There was nothing but kindness in his eyes, but irritation flamed in her chest all the same. Why should she be hearing those words when she was the one who wanted to ask them?

"Why does it look like I'd need—" Lilina caught her rising voice and took a deep breath. She'd snapped at Bors once already, and it would be unfair of her to do so again. "No, thank you. I'm fine."

If he noticed her agitation, his calm face didn't betray it. "All right. Let me know if I can do anything for you." His eyes fell to her tome. It was then she realized she was hunching. Whether it was from her mood, or weariness, or the weight of the book, she didn't know, but she guessed it looked like the latter to him. Supporting the tome in the crook of her elbow, she forced herself upright.

"Thank you," she said with a smile that hurt her jaw. "I'll do that." She turned and continued on her way.

Now that her attention had been drawn to the tome, she realized how much her shoulder ached. She may not have been ready to let her feet rest, but surely she could give her arm a break. On the battlefield, she never would have released her weapon, but she was safe here; everywhere she looked, she saw knights sworn to her or Roy, and she knew soldiers stood guard on every corner. They would die before they let anyone in.

Dread filled Lilina's stomach at that thought. She wished she could sign up for night watch, but her last request to do so had been denied. With a heavy heart, she'd had to think about her father's empty throne and promise her knights she wouldn't be reckless with her life.

Many of those same knights had suggested she lay down her weapon for good, but she'd firmly told each of them that she would not stay behind while others fought. This camp, however, was no battlefield. Surely her tome had no use here. Perhaps lugging it around was only wasting energy she might need in the battles to come. She did feel quite tired; it had not been long since her father's death, and since then life had been a non-step string of fights and marching.

Running a finger over the cover, she remembered when Roy had given it to her. Having fallen into a trap laid by her house's own knights (she should have suspected, she shouldn't have been so naïve, she shouldn't have failed), Lilina had been locked in a prison cell, where she could do little more than press her ear against the bars and listen to the screams echoing through the corridors. She'd stared at her empty hands, opening and closing them as if doing so long enough would make a tool appear in her clutch.

Her eyes squeezed shut as a wail of pain slammed her eyes. When she'd willed them open, she saw Roy's face through the bars, smiling at her as he fussed with a key. In an instant, he'd granted her wish, pressing a tome into her hands. Though he'd told her to protect herself, she spent more time protecting him.

Lilina shut the memory out as she walked into the healer's tent. Sweeping her eyes over bedrolls filled with people lying too, too still, she knew there was no point in thinking about a time when she was helpless. Kneeling beside a cleric, she asked what she could do. The cleric (one serving the princess of Bern, Lilina remembered, and perhaps that was why she didn't try to insist Lilina leave the work to the healers) smiled gratefully and issued Lilina orders. Lilina followed them earnestly, feeling a sense of peace even as she had to force herself not to gag at the sight of the wounds she wrapped bandages around. The soldier's face was twisted with pain, but as Lilina spoke to him, his expression smoothed. Once she was done with him, she moved to the next bedroll to clean the wounds of a boy who looked too young to have to bear them.

Each time she moved, she took her tome with her. She had no use for it while she dealt with potions and herbs, but she had made the mistake of letting her guard down once. There was no telling when the enemy could launch a surprise attack, or sneak their way into the alliance's trust and stab them in the back.

The boy flinched as Lilina applied a salve to his wounds. "I know it stings, but it will feel better afterwards. See? That wasn't so bad." Looking down at him, she tried to guess his age. He was easily younger than her, and there was an innocence to him that made him appear angelic. How could anyone let him fight?

One look at his eyes made her heart clench. There was such resolve in them, such will. She could see him insisting on joining the fray, holding up his weapon (a tome, perhaps?) and bravely facing the enemy even as everybody tried to tell him he should stay back.

"Is there someone you're fighting for?" she asked him. He seemed a bit surprised by the question, but he answered.

"The founder of my orphanage," he said. "Our Father…they killed him."

"Oh!" Lilina swallowed the rest of her exclamation. Her heart ached, but she knew that after her father's death, people gasping and looking at her had made it worse. Instead, she said in what she hoped was a kind voice, "Tell me about him."

She watched the boy's face become animated as he talked about his brother, his friends, and the compassionate bishop who had cared for them. Before long, his wounds were cleaned and bandaged, and he'd settled back for a much-needed rest.

As Lilina was about to stand, the boy grabbed her cape and beamed. "Thank you," he said. "I think Father would have liked you a lot." Lilina pried his fingers away and gave them a squeeze. Once he'd closed his eyes, she laid a palm over the tome at her heals. She wouldn't let it out of her reach again, she decided. Not now, not ever. As long as people suffered, she would do her best to help them. As long as people smiled, she would do everything in her power to make sure they could live to smile again.


End file.
